Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Christian stands in a steel-barred cage. Wearing his
soft, ripped jeans, his chest and feet are mouthwateringly naked, and he’s
staring at me. His private-joke smile etched on his beautiful face and his eyes
a molten gray. In his hands he holds a bowl of strawberries. He ambles with
athletic grace to the front of the cage, gazing intently at me. Holding up a
plump ripe strawberry, he extends his hand through the bars.
“Eat,” he says, his tongue caressing the front of his palate as he
enunciates the ‘t’.
I try and move toward him, but I’m tethered, held back by some unseen force
around my wrist, holding me. Let me go.
“Come, eat,” he says, smiling his delicious crooked smile.
I pull and pull… let me go! I want to scream and shout, but no sound emerges. I
am mute. He stretches a little further, and the strawberry is at my
lips.
“Eat, Anastasia.” His mouth forms my name, lingering sensually on each
syllable.
I open my mouth and bite, the cage disappears, and my hands are free.
I reach up to touch him, graze my fingers through his chest hair.
“Anastasia.”
No. I moan.
“Come on, baby.”
No. I want to touch you.
“Wake up.”
No. Please. My eyes flicker unwillingly open for a split second. I’m in bed and
someone is nuzzling my ear.
“Wake up, baby,” he whispers, and the effect of his sweet voice spreads like
warm melted caramel through my veins.
It’s Christian. Jeez, it’s still dark, and the images of him from my dream
persists, disconcerting and tantalizing in my head.
“Oh… no,” I groan. I want back at his chest, back to my dream. Why is he waking
me? It’s the middle of the night, or so it feels. Holy shit. Does he want sex –
now?
“Time to get up, baby. I’m going to switch on the sidelight.” His voice is
quiet.
“No,” I groan.
“I want to chase the dawn with you,” he says, kissing my face, my eyelids, the
tip of my nose, my mouth, and I open my eyes. The sidelight is on. “Good
morning, beautiful,” he murmurs.
I groan, and he smiles.
“You are not a morning person,” he murmurs.
Through the haze of light, I squint and see Christian leaning over
me, smiling. Amused. Amused at me. Dressed! In black.
“I thought you wanted sex,” I grumble.
“Anastasia, I always want sex with you. It’s heartwarming to know that you feel
the same,” he says dryly.
I gaze at him as my eyes adjust to the light, but he still looks amused… thank
heavens.
“Of course I do, just not when it’s so late.”
“It’s not late, it’s early. Come on – up you go. We’re going out. I’ll take a
rain check on the sex.”
“I was having such a nice dream,” I whine.
“Dream about what?” he asks patiently.
“You.” I blush.
“What was I doing this time?”
“Trying to feed me strawberries.”
His lips twitch with a trace of a smile.
“Dr. Flynn could have a field day with that. Up – get dressed. Don’t bother to
shower, we can do that later.”
We!
I sit up, and the sheet pools at my waist, revealing my body. He stands to give
me room, his eyes dark.
“What time is it?”
“5:30 in the morning.”
“Feels like 3:00 a.m.”
“We don’t have much time. I let you sleep as long as possible. Come.”
“Can’t I have a shower?”
He sighs.
“If you have a shower, I’ll want one with you, and you and I know what will
happen then – the day will just go. Come.”
He’s excited. Like a small boy, he’s iridescent with anticipation and
excitement. It makes me smile.
“What are we doing?’
“It’s a surprise. I told you.”
I can’t help but grin up at him.
“Okay.” I clamber off the bed and search for my clothes. Of course they are
neatly folded on the chair beside my bed. He’s laid out a pair of his jersey boxer
briefs too, Ralph Lauren, no less. I slip them on, and he grins at me.
Hmm, another piece of Christian Grey’s underwear – a trophy to add to
my collection – along with the car, the BlackBerry, the Mac, his black jacket,
and a set of old valuable first editions. I shake my head at his largesse, and
I frown as a scene from Tess crosses my mind: the strawberry scene.
It evokes my dream. To hell with Dr. Flynn – Freud would have a field day – and
then he’d probably expire trying to deal with Fifty Shades.
“I’ll give you some room now that you’re up.” Christian exits toward
the living area, and I wander into the bathroom. I have needs to attend to, and
I want a quick wash. Seven minutes later, I am in the living area, scrubbed,
brushed and dressed in jeans, my camisole, and Christian Grey’s
underwear. Christian glances up from the small dining table where
he’s eating breakfast. Breakfast! Jeez, at this time.
“Eat,” he says.
Holy Moses… my dream. I gape at him, thinking about his tongue on his palate.
Hmm, his expert tongue.
“Anastasia,” he says sternly, pulling me out of my reverie.
It really is too early for me. How to handle this?
“I’ll have some tea. Can I take a croissant for later?”
He eyes me suspiciously, and I smile very sweetly.
“Don’t rain on my parade, Anastasia,” he warns softly.
“I will eat later when my stomach’s woken up. About 7:30 a.m.… okay?”
“Okay.” He peers down at me.
Honestly. I have to concentrate hard on not making a face at him.
“I want to roll my eyes at you.”
“By all means, do, and you will make my day,” he says sternly.
I gaze up at the ceiling.
“Well a spanking would wake me up, I suppose.” I purse my lips in quiet
contemplation.
Christian’s mouth drops open.
“On the other hand, I don’t want you to be all hot and bothered, the climate
here is warm enough.” I shrug nonchalantly.
Christian closes his mouth and tries very hard to look displeased, but
fails hopelessly. I can see the humor lurking in the back of his eyes.
“You are, as ever, challenging, Miss Steele. Drink your tea.”
I notice the Twinings label, and inside, my heart sings. See, he does care, my
subconscious mouths at me. I sit and face him, drinking in his beauty. Will I
ever get enough of this man?
As we leave the room, Christian throws a sweatshirt at me.
“You’ll need this.”
I look at him, puzzled.
“Trust me.” He grins, leans over and kisses me quickly on the lips, then grabs my
hand and we head out.
Outside, in the relative cool of the half-light of pre-dawn, the valet hands Christian a
set of keys to a flash sports car with a soft top. I raise an eyebrow at Christian,
who smirks back at me.
“You know, sometimes it’s great being me,” he says with a conspiratorial but
smug grin that I simply can’t help emulating. He’s so lovable when he’s playful
and carefree. He opens my car door with an exaggerated bow, and in I climb. He
is in such a good mood.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” He grins as he slips the car into drive, and we head out on
Savannah Parkway. He programs the GPS and presses a switch on the steering
wheel and a classical orchestral piece fills the car.
“What’s this?” I ask as the sweet, sweet sound of a hundred violin strings assails
us.
“It’s from La Traviata. An opera by Verdi.”
Oh, my… it’s lovely.
“La Traviata? I’ve headr of that. I can’t think where. What does it mean?”
Christian glances at me and smirks.
“Well, literally, the woman led astray. It’s based on Alexander Dumas’s book,
La Dame aux Camelias.”
“Ah. I’ve read it.”
“I thought you might.”
“The doomed courtesan.” I squirm uncomfortably in the plush leather seat. Is he
trying to tell me something? “Hmm, it’s a depressing story,” I mutter.
“Too depressing? Do you want to choose some music? This is on my iPod.” Christian has
that secret smile again.
I can’t see his iPod anywhere. He taps the screen on the console between us,
and behold - there is a play list.
“You choose.” His lips twitch up into a smile, and I know it’s a challenge.
Christian Grey’s iPod, this should be interesting. I scroll through the
touch screen, and find the perfect song. I press play. I wouldn’t have figured
him for a Britney fan. The club-mix, techno beat assaults us both, and Christian turns
the volume down. Maybe it’s too early for this: Britney’s at her most sultry.
“Toxic, eh?” Christian grins.
“I don’t know what you mean.” I feign innocence.
He turns the music down a little more, and inside I am hugging myself. My inner
goddess is standing on the podium awaiting her gold medal. He turned the music
down. Victory!
“I didn’t put that song on my iPod,” he says casually, and puts his foot down
so that I am thrown back into my seat as the car accelerates along the freeway.
What? He knows what he’s doing, the bastard. Who did? And I have to listen to
Britney going on and on. Who… who?
The song ends and the iPod shuffles to Damien Rice being mournful. Who? Who? I
stare out of the window, my stomach churning. Who?
“It was Leila,” he answers my unspoken thoughts. How does he do that?
“Leila?”
“An ex, who put the song on my iPod.”
Damien warbles away in the background as I sit stunned. An ex… ex-submissive?
An ex–
“One of the fifteen?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“What happened to her?”
“We finished.”
“Why?”
Oh jeez. It’s too early for this kind of conversation. But he looks relaxed,
happy even, and what’s more, talkative.
“She wanted more.” His voice is low, introspective even, and he leaves the
sentence hanging between us, ending it with that powerful little word again.
“And you didn’t?” I ask before I can employ my brain to mouth filter. Shit, do
I want to know?
He shakes his head.
“I’ve never wanted more, until I met you.”
I gasp, reeling. Oh my. Isn’t this what I want? He wants more. He wants it,
too! My inner goddess has back flipped off the podium and is doing cartwheels
around the stadium. It’s not just me.
“What happened to the other fourteen?” I ask.
Jeez he’s talking – take advantage.
“You want a list? Divorced, beheaded, died?”
“You’re not Henry VIII.”
“Okay. In no particular order, I’ve only had long term relationships with four
women, apart from Elena.”
“Elena?”
“Mrs. Robinson to you.” He half smiles his secret private joke smile.
Elena! Holy Fuck. The evil one has a name and its all-foreign sounding. A
vision of a glorious, pale-skinned vamp with raven hair and ruby-red lips comes
to mind, and I know that she’s beautiful. I must not dwell. I must not dwell.
“What happened to the four?” I ask to distract myself.
“So inquisitive, so eager for information, Miss Steele,” he scolds playfully.
“Oh, Mr. When Is Your Period Due?”
“Anastasia – a man needs to know these things.”
“Does he?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to get pregnant.”
“Neither do I! Well, not for a few years yet.”
Christian blinks startled, then visibly relaxes. Okay. Christian doesn’t want
children. Now or never? I am reeling from his sudden, unprecedented attack of
candor. Perhaps it’s the early morning? Something in the Georgia water? The
Georgia air? What else do I want to know? Carpe Diem.
“So the other four, what happened?” I ask.
“One met someone else. The other three wanted – more. I wasn’t in the market
for more then.”
“And the others?” I press.
He glances at me briefly and just shakes his head.
“Just didn’t work out.”
Whoa, a bucket-load of information to process. I glance in the side mirror of
the car, and I notice the soft swell of pink and aquamarine in the sky behind.
Dawn is following us.
“Where are we headed?” I ask, perplexed, gazing out at the I-95. We’re heading
south, that’s all I know.
“An airfield.”
“We’re not going back to Seattle are we?” I gasp, alarmed. I haven’t said
goodbye to my mom. Jeez, she’s expecting us for dinner.
He laughs.
“No, Anastasia, we’re going to indulge in my second favorite pastime.”
“Second?” I frown at him.
“Yep. I told you my favorite this morning.”
I glance at his glorious profile, frowning, racking my brain.
“Indulging in you, Miss Steele, that’s got to be top of my list. Any way I can
get you.”
Oh,
“Well that’s quite high up on my list of diverting, kinky priorities too.” I
mutter, blushing.
“I’m pleased to hear it,” he mutters dryly.
“So, airfield?”
He grins at me.
“Soaring.”
The term rings a vague bell. He’s mentioned it before.
“We’re going to chase the dawn, Anastasia.” He turns and grins at me as the GPS
urges him to turn right into what looks like an industrial complex. He pulls up
outside a large white building with a sign reading Brunswick Soaring
Association.
Gliding! We’re going gliding?
He switches off the engine.
“You up for this?” he asks.
“You’re flying?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, please!” I don’t hesitate. He grins and leans forward and kisses me.
“Another first, Miss Steele,” he says as he climbs out of the car.
First? What sort of first? First time flying a glider… shit! No – he said that
he’s done it before. I relax. He walks round and opens my door. The sky has
turned to a subtle opal, shimmering and glowing softly behind the sporadic
childlike clouds. Dawn is upon us.
Taking my hand, Christian leads me round the building to a large stretch of
tarmac where several planes are parked. Waiting beside them is a man with a
shaved head and a wild look in his eye, accompanied by Taylor.
Taylor! Does Christian go any where without that man? I beam at him, and he
smiles kindly back at me.
“Mr. Grey, this is your tow-pilot, Mr. Mark Benson,” says Taylor. Christian and
Benson shake hands and strike up a conversation, which sounds very technical
about wind speed, directions, and the like.
“Hello, Taylor,” I murmur shyly.
“Miss Steele.” He nods a greeting at me, and I frown. “Ana,” he corrects
himself. “He’s been hell on wheels the last few days. Glad we’re here,” he says
conspiratorially.
Oh, this is news – Why? Surely not because of me! Revelation Thursday! Must be
something in the Savannah water that makes these men loosen up a bit.
“Anastasia,” Christian summons me. “Come.” He holds out his hand.
“See you later.” I smile at Taylor, and giving me a quick salute, he heads back
to the parking lot.
“Mr. Benson, this is my girlfriend Anastasia Steele.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I murmur as we shake hands.
Benson gives me a dazzling smile.
“Likewise,” he says, and I can tell from his accent that he’s British.
As I take Christian’s hand, there’s a mounting excitement in my belly. Wow…
gliding! We follow Mark Benson out across the tarmac towards the runway. He and
Christian keep up a running conversation. I catch the gist. We will be in a
Blanik L-23, which is apparently better than the L-13, although this is open to
debate. Benson will be flying a Piper Pawnee. He’s been flying tail draggers for
about five years now. It all means nothing to me, but glancing up at Christian,
he is so animated, so in his element, it’s a pleasure to watch him.
The plane itself is long, sleek, and white with orange stripes. It has a small
cockpit with two seats one in front of the other. It’s attached by a long white
cable to a small, conventional single-propeller plane. Benson opens the large,
clear Perspex dome that frames the cockpit, allowing us to climb in.
“First we need to strap on your parachute.”
Parachute!
“I’ll do that,” Christian interrupts him and takes the harness off Benson, who
smiles amenably at him.
“I’ll fetch some ballast,” Benson says and heads toward the plane.
“You like strapping me into things.” I observe dryly.
“Miss Steele, you have no idea. Here, step into the straps.”
I do as I’m told, placing my arm on his shoulder. Christian stiffens slightly
but doesn’t move. Once my feet are in the loops, he pulls the parachute up, and
I place my arms through the shoulder straps. Deftly he fastens the harness and
tightens all the straps.
“There, you’ll do,” he says mildly, but his eyes are gleaming. “Do you have
your hair tie from yesterday?”
I nod.
“You want me to put my hair up?”
“Yes.”
I quickly do as I’m asked.
“In you go,” Christian commands. He’s still so bossy. I go to climb into the
back.

“No, front. Pilot sits at the back.”
“But won’t you be able to see.”
“I’ll see plenty.” He grins.
I don’t think I have ever seen him so happy, bossy, but happy. I clamber in,
settling down into the leather seat. It is surprisingly comfortable. Christian
leans over, pulls the harness over my shoulders, reaches between my legs for
the lower belt, and slots it into the fastener that rests against my belly. He
tightens all the restraining straps.
“Hmm, twice in one morning, I am a lucky man,” he whispers and kisses me
quickly. “This won’t take long – twenty, thirty minutes at most. Thermals
aren’t great this time of the morning, but it’s so breathtaking up there at
this hour. I hope you’re not nervous.”
“Excited.” I beam.
Where did this ridiculous grin come from? Actually, part of me is terrified. My
inner goddess – she’s under a blanket behind the sofa.
“Good.” He grins back, stroking my face, then disappears from view.
I hear and feel his movements as he climbs in behind me. Of course he’s
strapped me in so tightly I can’t move round to see him… typical! We are very
low on the ground. In front of me is a panel of dials and levers and a big
stick thing. I leave well alone.
Mark Benson appears with a cheerful grin as he checks my straps and leans in
and checks the cockpit floor. I think it’s the ballast.
“Yep, that’s secure. First time?” he asks me.
“Yes.”
“You’ll love it.”
“Thanks, Mr. Benson.”
“Call me Mark.” He turns to Christian. “Okay?”
“Yep. Let’s go.”
I am so glad I haven’t eaten anything. I am beyond excited, and I don’t think
my stomach would be game for food, excitement, and leaving the ground. Once
again, I am putting myself into this beautiful man’s skilled hands. Mark shuts
the cockpit lid, strolls over to the plane in front, and climbs in.
The Piper’s single propeller starts, and my nervous stomach relocates itself to
my throat. Jeez… I’m really doing this. Mark taxis slowly down the runway, and
as the cable takes the strain, we suddenly jolt forward. We’re off. I hear
chatter over the radio set behind me. I think it’s Mark talking to the tower –
but I can’t make out what he’s saying. As the Piper picks up speed, so do we.
It’s very bumpy, and in front of us, the single prop plane is still on the
ground. Jeez, will we ever get up? And suddenly, my stomach disappears from my
throat and free-falls through my body to the ground – we’re airborne.
“Here we go, baby!” Christian shouts from behind me. And we are in our own
bubble, just us two. All I hear is the sound of the wind ripping past and the
distant hum of the Piper’s engine.
I’m gripping the edge of my seat with both hands, so tightly my knuckles are
white. We head west, inland away from the rising sun, gaining height, crossing
over fields and woods and homes and I-95. Oh my. This is amazing, above us only
sky. The light is extraordinary, diffuse and warm in hue, and I remember José
rambling on about ‘magic hour’, a time of day that photographers adore – this
is it… just after dawn, and I’m in it, with Christian.
Abruptly, I’m reminded of José’s show. Hmm. I need to tell Christian. I wonder
briefly how he’ll react. But I won’t worry about that, not now – I’m enjoying
the ride. My ears pop as we gain height, and the ground slips further and
further away. It is so peaceful. I completely get why he likes to be up here.
Away from his BlackBerry and all the pressures of his job.
The radio crackles into life, and Mark mentions 3,000 feet. Jeez, that sounds
high,. I check the ground, and I can no longer clearly distinguish anything
down there.
“Release,” Christian says into the radio, and suddenly the Piper disappears,
and the pulling sensation provided by the small plane ceases. We’re floating,
floating over Georgia.
Holy fuck – it’s exciting. The plane banks and turns as the wing dips, and we
spiral toward the sun. Icarus. This is it. I am flying close to the sun, but
he’s with me, leading me. I gasp at the realization. We spiral and spiral and,
the view in this morning light is spectacular.
“Hold on tight!” he shouts, and we dip again – only this time he doesn’t stop.
suddenly, I am upside down, looking at the ground through the top of the
cockpit canopy.
I squeal loudly, my arms automatically lashing out, my hands splayed on the
Perspex to stop me falling. I can hear him laughing. Bastard! But his joy is
infectious, and I am laughing too as he rights the plane.
“I’m glad I didn’t have breakfast!” I shout at him.
“Yes, in hindsight, it’s good you didn’t, because I’m going to do that again.”
He dips the plane once more until we are upside down. This time, because I’m
prepared, I hang on to the harness, but it makes me grin and giggle like a
fool. He levels the plane once more.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he calls.
“Yes.”
We fly, swooping majestically through the air, listening to the wind and the
silence, in the early morning light. Who could ask for more?
“See the joy-stick in front of you?” he shouts again.
I look at the stick that is moving slightly between my legs. Oh no, where’s he
going with this?
“Grab hold.”
Oh shit. He’s going to make me fly the plane. No!
“Go on, Anastasia. Grab it,” he urges more vehemently.
Tentatively, I grasp it and feel the pitch and yaw of what I assume are rudders
and paddles or whatever keeps this thing in the air.
“Hold tight… keep it steady. See the middle dial in front? Keep the needle dead
center.”
My heart is in my mouth. Holy shit. I am flying a glider… I’m soaring.
“Good girl.” Christian sounds delighted.
“I am amazed you let me take control,” I shout.
“You’d be amazed what I’d let you do, Miss Steele. Back to me now.”
I feel the joystick move suddenly, and I let go as we spiral down several feet,
my ears starting to pop again. The ground is getting closer, and it feels like
we could be hitting it shortly. Jeez, that’s scary.
“BMA, this is BG N Papa 3 Alpha, entering left downwind runway seven to the
grass, BMA.” Christian sounds his usual authoritative self. The tower squawks
back at him over the radio, but I don’t understand what they say. We sail round
again in a wide circle, sinking slowly to the ground. I can see the airport,
the landing strips, and we’re flying back over I-95.
“Hang on, baby. This can get bumpy.”
After another circle we dip, and suddenly we are on the ground with a brief
thump, racing along the grass – holy shit. My teeth chatter as we bump at an
alarming speed along the ground, until we finally come to a stop. The plane
sways slightly then dips to the right. I take a deep lungful of air while
Christian leans over and opens the cockpit lid, clambering out and stretching.
“How was that?” he asks, and his eyes are a shining, dazzling silver gray. He
leans down to unbuckle me.
“That was extraordinary. Thank you,” I whisper.
“Was it more?” he asks, his voice tinged with hope.
“Much more,” I breathe, and he grins.
“Come.” He holds out his hand for me, and I clamber out of the cockpit.
As soon as I’m out, he grabs me and holds me flush against his body. Suddenly
his hand is in my hair, tugging it so my head tips back, and his other hand
travels down to the base of my spine. He kisses me, long, hard, and
passionately, his tongue in my mouth. His breathing is mounting, his ardor…
Holy cow – his erection… we’re in a field. But I don’t care. My hands twist in
his hair, anchoring him to me. I want him, here, now, on the ground. He breaks
away and gazes down at me, his eyes now dark and luminous in the early morning
light, full of raw, arrogant sensuality. Wow. He takes my breath away.
“Breakfast,” he whispers, making it sound deliciously erotic.
How can he make bacon and eggs sound like forbidden fruit? It’s an
extraordinary skill. He turns, clasping my hand, and we head back toward the
car.
“What about the glider?”
“Someone will take care of that?”, he says dismissively. “We’ll eat now.” His
tone is unequivocal.
Food! He’s talking food, when really all I want is him.
“Come.” He smiles.
I have never seen him like this, and it’s a joy to behold. I find myself
walking beside him, hand in hand, with a stupid, goofy grin plastered on my
face. It reminds me of when I was ten and spending the day in Disneyland with
Ray. It was a perfect day, and this is sure shaping out to be the same.
Back in the car, as we head back along I-95 towards Savannah, my phone alarm
goes off. Oh yes… my pill.
“What’s that?” Christian asks, curious, glancing at me.
I fumble in my purse for the packet.
“Alarm for my pill,” I mutter as my cheeks flush.
His lips quirk up.
“Good, well done. I hate condoms.”
I flush some more. He’s as patronizing as ever.
“I like that you introduced me to Mark as your girlfriend,” I murmur.
“Isn’t that what you are?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Am I? I thought you wanted a submissive.”
“So did I, Anastasia, and I do. But I’ve told you, I want more, too.”
Oh my. He’s coming round, and hope surges through me, leaving me breathless.
“I’m very happy that you want more,” I whisper.
“We aim to please, Miss Steele.” He smirks as we pull into the International
House of Pancakes.
“IHOP.” I grin back at him. I don’t believe it. Who would have thought…
Christian Grey at IHOP.
It’s 8:30 a.m. but quiet in the restaurant. It smells of sweet batter, fried
food, and disinfectant. Hmm… not such an enticing aroma. Christian leads me to
a booth.
“I would never have pictured you here,” I say as we slide into a booth.
“My dad used to bring us to one of these whenever my mom went away at a medical
conference. It was our secret.” He smiles at me, gray eyes dancing, then picks
up a menu, running a hand through his wayward hair as he stares down at it.
Oh, I want to run my hands through that hair. I pick up a menu and examine it.
I realize I’m starving.
“I know what I want,” he breathes, his voice low and husky.
I glance up at him, and he’s staring at me in that way that tightens all the
muscles in my belly and takes my breath away, his eyes dark and smoldering.
Holy shit. I gaze at him, my blood singing in my veins answering his call.
“I want what you want,” I whisper.
He inhales sharply.
“Here?” he asks suggestively, raising an eyebrow at me, smiling wickedly, his
teeth trapping the tip of his tongue.
Oh my… sex in IHOP. His expression changes, growing darker.
“Don’t bite your lip,” he orders. “Not here, not now.” His eyes harden
momentarily, and for a moment, he looks so deliciously dangerous. “If I can’t
have you here, don’t tempt me.”
“Hi, My name’s Leandra, What can I get for you… er… folks… er… today, this
mornin… ?” Her voice trails off, stumbling over her words as she gets an eye
full of Mr. Beautiful opposite me. She flushes scarlet, and a small ounce of
sympathy for her bubbles
unwelcome into my consciousness because he still does that to me. Her presence
allows me to escape briefly from his sensual glare.
“Anastasia?” he prompts me, ignoring her, and I don’t think anyone could
squeeze as much carnality into my name as he does at that moment.
I swallow, praying that I don’t go the same color as poor Leandra.
“I told you, I want what you want.” I keep my voice soft, low, and he looks at
me hungrily. Jeez, my inner goddess swoons. Am I up to this game?
Leandra looks from me to him and back again. She’s practically the same color
as her shiny red hair.
“Shall I give you folks another minute to decide?”
“No. We know what we want.” Christian’s mouth twitches with a small, sexy
smile.
“We’ll have two portions of the original buttermilk pancakes with maple syrup
and bacon on the side, two glasses of orange juice, one black coffee with skim
milk, and one English breakfast tea, if you have it,” says Christian, not
taking his eyes off me.
“Thank you sir. Will that be all?” Leandra whispers, looking anywhere but at
the two of us. We both turn to stare at her, and she flushes crimson again and
scuttles away.
“You know it’s really not fair.” I glance down at the Formica tabletop, tracing
a pattern in it with my index finger, trying to sound nonchalant.
“What’s not fair?”
“How you disarm people. Women. Me.”
“Do I disarm you?”
I snort.
“All the time.”
“It’s just looks, Anastasia,” he says mildly.
“No, Christian, it’s much more than that.”
His brow creases.
“You disarm me totally, Miss Steele. Your innocence. It cuts through all the
crap.”
“Is that why you’ve changed your mind?”
“Changed my mind?”
“Yes – about … err… us?”
He strokes his chin thoughtfully with his long, skilled fingers.
“I don’t think I’ve changed my mind per se. We just need to re-define our
parameters, re-draw our battle lines, if you will. We can make this work, I’m
sure. I want you submissive in my playroom. I will punish you if you digress
from the rules. Other than that… well, I think it’s all up for discussion. Those
are my requirements, Miss Steele. What say you to that?”
“So I get to sleep with you? In your bed?”
“Is that what you want?”
“Yes.”
“I agree then. Besides, I sleep very well when you’re in my bed. I had no
idea.” His brow creases as his voice fades.
“I was frightened you’d leave me if I didn’t agree to all of it,” I whisper.
“I’m not going anywhere, Anastasia. Besides… ” He trails off, and after some
thought, he adds. “We’re following your advice, your definition: compromise.
You emailed it to me. And so far, it’s working for me.”
“I love that you want more,” I murmur shyly.
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“Trust me. I just do.” He smirks at me. He’s hiding something. What?
At that moment, Leandra arrives with breakfast and our conversation ceases. My
stomach rumbles, reminding me how ravenous I am. Christian watches with
annoying approval as I devour everything on my plate.
“Can I treat you?” I ask Christian.
“Treat me how?”
“Pay for this meal.”
Christian snorts.
“I don’t think so.” he scoffs.
“Please. I want to.”
He frowns at me.
“Are you trying to completely emasculate me?”
“This is probably the only place that I’ll be able to afford to pay.”
“Anastasia, I appreciate the thought. I do. But no.”
I purse my lips.
“Don’t scowl,” he threatens, his eyes glinting ominously.
Of course he doesn’t ask me for my mother’s address. He knows it already,
stalker that he is. When he pulls up outside the house, I don’t comment. What’s
the point?
“Do you want to come in?” I ask shyly.
“I need to work, Anastasia, but I’ll be back this evening. What time?”
I ignore the unwelcome stab of disappointment. Why do I want to spend every
single minute with this controlling sex god? Oh yes, I’ve fallen in love with
him, and he can fly.
“Thank you… for the more.”
“My pleasure, Anastasia.” He kisses me, and I inhale his sexy Christian smell.
“I’ll see you later.”
“Try and stop me,” he whispers.
I wave goodbye as he drives off into the Georgia sunshine. I’m still wearing
his sweatshirt and his underwear, and I’m too warm.
In the kitchen, my mom is in a complete flap. It’s not every day she has to
entertain a multi-zillionaire, and it’s stressing her out.
“How are you, darling?” she asks, and I flush because she must know what I was
doing last night.
“I’m good. Christian took me gliding this morning.” I hope the new information
will distract her.
“Gliding? As in a small plane with no engine? That sort of gliding?”
I nod.
“Wow.”
She’s speechless – a novel concept for my mother. She gapes at me, but
eventually recovers herself and resumes her original line of questioning.
“How was last night? Did you talk?”
Jeez. I flush bright scarlet.
“We talked – last night and today. It’s getting better.”
“Good.” She turns her attention back to the four cookery books she has open on
the kitchen table.
“Mom… if you like, I’ll cook this evening.”
“Oh, honey, that’s kind of you, but I want to do it.”
“Okay.” I grimace, knowing full well that my mother’s cooking is pretty hit or miss.
Perhaps she’s improved since she moved to Savannah with Bob. There was a time I
wouldn’t subject anyone to her cooking… even – who do I hate? Oh yes – Mrs.
Robinson – Elena. Well, maybe her. Will I ever meet this damned woman?
I decide to send a quick thank-you to Christian.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Soaring as opposed to sore-ing
Date: June 2 2011 10:20 EST
To: Christian Grey
Sometimes, you really know how to show a girl a good time.
Thank you
Ana x
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Soaring vs sore-ing
Date: June 2 2011 10:24 EST
To: Anastasia Steele
I’ll take either of those over your snoring. I had a good time too.
But I always do when I’m with you.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: SNORING
Date: June 2 2011 10:26 EST
To: Christian Grey
I DO NOT SNORE. And if I do, it’s very ungallant of you to point it out.
You are no gentleman Mr. Grey! And you are in the Deep South too!
Ana
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Somniloquy
Date: June 2 2011 10:28 EST
To: Anastasia Steele
I have never claimed to be a gentleman, Anastasia, and I think I have
demonstrated that point to you on numerous occasions. I am not intimidated by
your SHOUTY capitals. But I will confess to a small white lie: No – you don’t
snore, but you do talk. And it’s
fascinating.
What happened to my kiss?
Christian Grey
Cad & CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Holy shit. I know I talk in my sleep. Kate has told me enough times. What the
hell have I said? Oh no.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Spill the Beans
Date: June 2 2011 10:32 EST
To: Christian Grey
You are a cad and a scoundrel – definitely no gentleman.
So, what did I say? No kisses for you until you talk!
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Sleeping talking Beauty
Date: June 2 2011 10:35 EST
To: Anastasia Steele
It would be most ungallant of me to say, and I have already been chastised for
that.
But if you behave yourself, I may tell you this evening. I do have to go into a
meeting now.
Laters, baby.
Christian Grey
CEO, Cad & Scoundrel, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Right! I shall maintain radio silence until this evening. I fume. Jeez.
Supposing I’ve said I hate him, or worse still, that I love him, in my sleep.
Oh, I hope not. I am not ready to
tell him that, and I’m sure he’s not ready to hear it, if he ever wants to hear
it. I scowl at my computer and decide that whatever I cook, I will make bread.
My mom has decided on gazpacho soup and a barbecue with steaks marinated in
olive oil, garlic, and lemon. Christian likes meat, and it’s simple to do. Bob
has volunteered to man the BBQ grill. What is it about men and fire, I ponder
as I trail after my mother through the supermarket with the shopping cart?
As we browse the raw meat cabinet, my phone rings. I scramble for it, thinking
it may be Christian. I don’t recognize the number.
“Hello?” I answer breathlessly.
“Anastasia Steele?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Elizabeth Morgan from SIP.”
“Oh – hi.”
“I’m calling to offer you the job of assistant to Mr. Jack Hyde. We’d like you
to start on Monday.”
“Wow. That’s great. Thank you!”
“You know the salary details?”
“Yes. Yes… that’s – I mean, I accept your offer. I’d love to come and work for
you.”
“Excellent. We’ll see you Monday at 8:30 a.m.?”
“See you then. Goodbye. And thank you.”
I beam at my mom.
“You have a job?”
I nod gleefully, and she squeals and hugs me in the middle of Publix
supermarket.
“Congratulations, darling! We have to buy some champagne!” She’s clapping her
hands and jumping up and down. Is she forty-two or twelve?
I glance down at my phone and frown, there’s a missed call from Christian. He
never phones me. I call him straight back.
“Anastasia,” he answers immediately.
“Hi,” I murmur shyly.
“I have to return to Seattle. Something’s come up. I am on my way to Hilton
Head now. Please apologize to your mother – I can’t make dinner.” He sounds
very businesslike.
“Nothing serious, I hope?”
“I have a situation which I have to deal with. I’ll see you Friday. I’ll send
Taylor to collect you from the airport if I can’t come myself.” He sounds cold.
Angry even. But for the first time, I don’t immediately think it’s me.
“Okay. I hope you sort out your situation. Have a safe flight.”
“You too, baby,” he breathes, and with those words, my Christian is back
briefly. Then he hangs up.
Oh no. The last ‘situation’ he had was my virginity. Jeez, I hope it’s nothing
like that. I gaze at my mom. Her earlier jubilation has metamorphosed into
concern.
“It’s Christian, he’s had to go back to Seattle. He apologizes.”
“Oh! That’s a shame, darling. We can still have our barbecue, and now we have
something to celebrate – your new job! You have to tell me all about it.”
It’s late afternoon, and Mom and I are lying beside the pool. My mother has
relaxed to the point where she is literally horizontal now that Mr. Megabucks
is not coming to dinner. As I lie in the sun, endeavoring to lose the pale, I
think about yesterday evening and breakfast today. I think about Christian, and
my ridiculous grin refuses to subside. It keeps creeping across my face,
unbidden and disconcerting, as I recall our various conversations and what we
did… what he did.
There seems to be tidal shift in Christian’s attitude. He denies it but – he
admits he’s trying for more. What could have changed? What has altered since he
sent his long email and when I saw him yesterday? What has he done? I sit up
suddenly, almost spilling my Dr. Pepper. He had dinner with… her. Elena.
Holy Fuck!
My scalp prickles at the realization. Did she say something to him? Oh… to have
been a fly on the wall during their dinner. I could have landed in her soup or
on her wine glass and choked her.
“What is it, Ana, honey?” Mom asks, startled from her torpor.
“I’m just having a moment, Mom. What time is it?”
“About 6:30 p.m., darling.”
Hmm… he won’t have landed yet. Can I ask him? Should I ask him? Or perhaps she
has nothing to do with it. I fervently hope so. What did I say in my sleep?
Crap… some unguarded remark while dreaming about him, I bet? Whatever it is, or
was, I hope the sea of change is coming from within him and not because of her.
I am sweltering in this damned heat. I need another dip in the pool.
As I get ready for bed, I switch on my computer. I have heard nothing from
Christian. Not even a word that he’s arrived safely.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Safe Arrival?
Date: June 2 2011 22:32 EST
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir
Please let me know that you have arrived safely. I am starting to worry.
Thinking of you.
Your Ana. x
Three minutes later, I hear the ping from my email in-box.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Sorry
Date: June 2 2011 19:36
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele
I have arrived safely, and please accept my apologies for not letting you know.
I don’t want to cause you any worry, it’s heart warming to know that you care for
me. I am thinking of you too and as ever looking forward to seeing you
tomorrow.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
I sigh, Christian is back to formality.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: The Situation
Date: June 2 2011 22:40 EST
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey
I think it is very evident that I care for you deeply. How could you doubt
that?
I hope your ‘situation’ is in hand.
Your Ana xPS: Are you going to tell me what I said in my sleep?
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Pleading the Fifth
Date: June 2 2011 19:45
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele
I like very much that you care for me. The ‘situation’ here is not yet
resolved.
With regard to your PS: The answer is - No.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Pleading Insanity
Date: June 2 2011 22:48 EST
To: Christian Grey
I hope it was amusing. But you should know I cannot accept any responsibility
for what comes out of my mouth when I am unconscious. In fact – you probably
misheard me.
A man of your advanced years is surely a little deaf.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Pleading Guilty
Date: June 2 2011 19:52
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele
Sorry, could you speak up? I can’t hear you.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Pleading Insanity Again
Date: June 2 2011 22:54 EST
To: Christian Grey
You are driving me crazy.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: I hope so…
Date: June 2 2011 19:59
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele
I intend to do exactly that on Friday evening. Looking forward to it
;)
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Grrrrrr
Date: June 2 2011 23:02 EST
To: Christian Grey
I am officially pissed at you.
Goodnight.
Miss A. R. Steele
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Wild Cat
Date: June 2 2011 20:05
To: Anastasia Steele
Are you growling at me Miss Steele?
I possess a cat of my own for growlers.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Cat of his own? I’ve never seen a cat in his apartment. No, I am not going to
answer him. Oh, he can be so exasperating sometimes. Fifty shades of
exasperating. I clamber into bed and lie glaring at the ceiling as my eyes
adjust to the dark. I hear another ping from my computer. I am not going to
look. No definitely not. No, I am not going to look. Gah! Like the fool I am, I
cannot resist the lure of Christian Grey’s words.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: What you said in your sleep
Date: June 2 2011 20:20
To: Anastasia Steele
Anastasia
I’d rather hear you say the words that you uttered in your sleep when you’re
conscious, that’s why I won’t tell you. Go to sleep. You’ll need to be rested
with what I have in mind for you tomorrow.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Oh no… What have I said? It’s as bad as I think, I’m sure.